


The Maker Man

by Melanthios



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Musclebear Impala, anthropomorfic - Freeform, everyone is bi!universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanthios/pseuds/Melanthios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baby-gets-turned-into-a-man fic. I wanted one where Baby was a) a proper muscle car anthro and b) Dean actually acted like the past ten seasons of SPN happened and didn't think 'this is SO weird' bc frankly weirder things have happened to this boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Maker Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [detainyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/detainyou/gifts).



> Baby isn't played by any kinda actor (...that is non-fictional. Hilariously I realised I was 'casting' an actor character of mine to play him. how's _that_ for recursive lol).

Younger ones might have panicked, or screamed, used to having hair-triggers for being touched; he was too old for that kind of thing, and just sat quietly in the darkness of the garage. Safe. It was nice in here, much nicer than the rough blacktop or bare dirt or—shudder— _gravel_ that he sometimes endured. Not that he minded enduring it, not for Him. He knew very well from others that he was a lucky one, having someone that cared about him so deeply.

He waited in the dark, the quiet dark, and slept, keeping safe everything trusted to him, as always. It had been a little difficult when he’d first… changed shape. But he’d sorted it all out, and he guarded it now, waiting for Him to come back, to need him.

.oOo.

Dean liked not living on take-out and diner food. He _loved_ good diner food, but most of the time, diner food _wasn’t_ good, and ever since the Leviathan, he’d had trouble trusting food that he didn’t make himself, from scratch. With recognisable foods.

When he flipped the lights on to the garage, got to the parking spot where he kept Baby, next to all the other cars, and found everything lined up tidily, behind a large, muscular man with black hair, who appeared to be just… standing there, waiting. He didn’t move, and he wasn’t dressed. Dean slowed down, but didn’t have the gut feeling that this man-shaped being meant harm. After more than thirty years of hunting, you trusted your instincts. It was weird that the dude wasn’t saying anything, just watching him approach with a happy crinkling at the corners of his silver eyes; but weird wasn’t threatening.

‘Hey,’ he called out.

‘Hey,’ the man said back, in a low rumble. He didn’t move. ‘I tried to keep it all safe, even though I can’t keep it inside myself, anymore.’

Dean thought about that for a few seconds, taking the man in; since he wasn’t moving, and wasn’t dressed, Dean figured he’d push his luck. Besides, the dude was staring at _him_ just as intently….

First glance had perked up Dean’s interest—muscled, not model-handsome, grey eyes. White, black hair, black hair _everywhere_ , mmmm… and scars, good. Dean didn’t trust muscles who didn’t have enough scars. That one there would be from a… um, okay what about that one over there… weird, Dean was usually better with scars….

‘That one’s from the rugaru up in Saint Bonifacius,’ the man said, running calloused fingertips over it. ‘But it’s not my favourite. My favourite one is over here.’ He reached around behind himself, turning with careful steps, like he wasn’t used to moving. ‘That one.’

Dean found himself staring at a _very_ nice ass, where his and Sam’s initials were scars on one cheek, just below the hip bone back there.

Someone had turned his car into a man.

‘Well,’ Dean said, in the soft almost under-his-breath tone, ‘that explains why you’re so hot.’ And non-threatening. Comforting, actually. He smiled into those chrome-silver eyes. ‘Hi, Baby.’

‘Why do you call me that?’ he asked, straightening again.

‘It’s one of the things you call your car, if you’re the kinda person who actually _cares_ about he—uh, him.’ Dean was surprised at how easily the explanation came, how normal, how _expected_ the question was. Of course Baby would want to know. Looking at him now, though…. ‘um, not that I’d wanna call you “baby” now… there’s… definitely other words that work better, with you looking like that.’ Words like ‘Daddy’, Dean thought, in the very private part of his mind that he never showed people that knew his name was ‘Dean’.

‘Like what? Even Sam called me “Baby”, when you were…’ He trailed off, thick brows coming together, tilting up, face crumpling slightly. He wrapped his arms around Dean. ‘But you’re here now,’ he said, fiercely, and Dean melted into his embrace.

Okay.

Baby it was.

Even naked, he still smelled like Baby always did, and that was what really relaxed Dean the most; he’d been looking forward to that smell, he always did. He hugged back, not minding. Weird was part of his life, and his car turning into a human that got that look on his face when thinking about not being with him, and hugging him like this? That was pretty high on his ‘things I want to happen today’ list.

‘I love you too, Baby,’ he murmured, into that broad chest, and the fact that Baby was taller than him was comforting. He hadn’t exactly dreamed about his car in any capacity, but it felt _right_. All of this felt right. He was more comfortable with this person than he’d ever been with another human. ‘So, hey,’ he said, realising and rearing back, hands on Baby’s arms as he looked around the garage. ‘Why just you? What about all these other cars? Do you know?’

The man looked around, back at Dean, got that sad look again. ‘Dean… they’re… they got left alone for too long. They’re not like me, anymore. Nobody loves them.’

A horrible, clutching _sadness_ struck Dean, at that; then more familiar anger. _‘I_ love them! I love _all_ of them!’ He didn’t notice he was clutching Baby painfully tight.

‘I know,’ came the answer. ‘But it’s been a long time. They’re… what’s the thing you do when you park?’

Dean thought for a moment, carefully. ‘Sleep?’

‘Yes. They’re sleeping very… hard?’

Dean relaxed, realising how hard he’d been holding Baby’s arms and loosening his grip, stroking the bruises with his thumbs apologetically, but unable to quite let go, yet. Sleeping. Not dead. Thank God for that. Or whomever looked after cars. ‘Who’s the god of cars?’ he wondered, under his breath.

‘The Maker Man,’ Baby said, smiling. ‘He makes all the things. He’s part machine, himself.’

Somehow, the innocence in that statement was cute, and Dean felt himself smiling. ‘The Maker Man, huh?’

‘He’s like you,’ Baby said, smiling widely, though his voice was still that low, lovely rumble that definitely reminded Dean of Baby’s engine. ‘You have lore on him, you have to. You have lore on everything, in the Bunker.’

‘We… yeah, mostly.’ Dean remembered. ‘Shit, uh, I’m on a grocery run.’

‘Groceries, yes. I like when we can do those alone. You get unhappy when Sam or Cas come.’

‘Right well… you can’t exactly… uh.’ Dean mentally finished that sentence, and aborted it as unnecessarily demoralising. ‘Okay, so, let’s drive another car today. Which one should we use?’ He figured it just made sense to ask the car about cars. Baby looked around the garage, and looked down at his feet.

‘Oh, right,’ he said, to himself, ‘I can drive myself now.’

‘You can,’ Dean said, encouragingly, moving aside, but staying close enough to act as emergency support. ‘Go on, try it. Hang on to my arm if you lose your balance.’

But to Dean’s pride, Baby just took a few careful steps, then seemed to immediately get the hang of it, striding off, bare feet slapping on the glazed concrete of the garage as he went directly to the green Ford Thunderbird.

‘He’s the closest to my age, and we’re from the same place,’ he said, hesitating slightly, before reaching out and touching the roof. Dean almost wondered why, until he realised that the only time cars touched other cars was during crashes. He looked down at his own hand, and then down at himself. ‘Oh, I should… put rags on, or I’ll rust.’

Dean chuckled. ‘Okay, let’s get you some rags.’

Going back down into the bunker proper, Dean hoped Sam wouldn’t freak out.

‘Hey Dea—whoa,’ he said, averting his gaze from the very tall, very _naked_ man behind Dean. ‘Uh, who’s this?’

‘Baby,’ Dean said, taking the tactic of ‘if I don’t act like it’s weird, everyone else will be weird for acting weird about it’. He kept heading for the hallway where their rooms were. ‘We’re gonna get him something to wear. Start looking up gods who make stuff and have machine parts.’

‘Where are you going?’ Sam asked, following them into the hallway.

‘Dude,’ Dean said, ‘groceries? Still need to happen? We’re taking the Thunderbird.’

‘Right. With him.’ Sam glanced at Baby, who smiled at him and ruffled his hair. That was… it was _more_ weird that it didn’t _feel weird_.

‘He’s too big for my stuff,’ Dean said, and Sam realised he’d gone into Sam’s room and was rummaging the wardrobe in it, ‘so I’m gonna borrow something of yours, okay?’

‘I think I’m bigger than Sam,’ Baby said, looking curiously into Sam’s room, which was about when Sam noticed the devil’s trap tattoo on the small of his back, and the fact that Sam’s initials were _carved onto his ass._ Was it possible to die from blushing too hard? Baby didn't seem to notice—or care—about Sam staring, more interested in the room.

‘Is this your garage?’ he asked them.

‘This is Sammy’s garage,’ Dean answered cheerfully, tossing one of Sam’s pairs of jeans on the bed, where he’d already thrown a white t-shirt and one of Sam’s looser, darker plaid shirts.

‘It’s nice,’ Baby said to Sam, and went over to the clothes, picking them up curiously. Sam gave up on trying to question this, and besides, nothing was telling him Baby meant them harm. I mean, this was _Baby_ , right? Dean wouldn’t say that lightly.

‘Thanks,’ Sam said, and went over to the bed, starting to help him get dressed. First, the white shirt, which was very snug when they got it on, especially over the chest. ‘You are… uh, really cut. Wow.’

‘He’s a muscle car,’ Dean said, coming toward the bed with an old pair of Sam’s shoes. Sam, meanwhile, was handing Baby the jeans.

‘You might wanna sit down for that.’

‘Sit… down…’ Baby repeated, thinking, having watched Sam’s gesture toward the bed. Sam nearly jumped in to explain when Baby sat down on the edge of the bed, then returned to his examination of the jeans, looking at Sam and Dean, then the jeans, holding them out. Sam had unbuttoned them already, and Dean thwapped his arm when he started moving to help more.

‘Let him think about it, Sammy, jeez. He’s older than you.’

‘Sam worries,’ Baby said, without annoyance, carefully putting one foot down the leg of the jeans, pulling it all the way up before realising that meant he couldn’t get the other half of the jeans on, and reversing. He was thoughtful, taking his time, and finally carefully got to his feet, wobbled, and grabbed Dean’s arm, steadying before pulling the jeans up the rest of the way—and wincing.

‘Oh jeez, man, be careful with that bit,’ Dean said, then realised he’d have to… touch…

Baby had a cock now. That was… fine. That was fine. ‘Sam, give us a minute?’ he asked, and his baby brother seemed too happy to avoid this awkward situation entirely.

‘Why does it feel so _much_?’ Baby asked, a little out of breath from the accidental rough handling. ‘It… please fix it, I think I scratched the paint.’

That helped. Dean smiled gently, the smile only Baby ever saw, and reached out, making sure his car was unhurt before carefully tucking him into the jeans, and buttoning them up, glad that Sam had always been fussy about zippers and to hell with how sexy they sounded, they were uncomfortable.

‘Feel better?’ Dean asked.

‘Yes,’ Baby said. ‘This is, uh…’ he tried to walk in the jeans. ‘This is harder to do now.’

‘Clothes are like that,’ Dean agreed. ‘But it’s like you said, we need clothes or we rust. Just like cars need paint. You’re doing great.’

Baby’s smile was the most beautiful damn thing Dean had ever seen. ‘Thank you, Dean.’

God, the way he said _Dean_ ….


End file.
